


After Mark

by sam_vide



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: (This follows my hc for Dark, Blood, Corpses, Death, Guns, Other, WKM Feels, cannibalism mention, just a corpse being puppeteered by the siblings' spirits)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 23:45:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13937994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_vide/pseuds/sam_vide
Summary: It started as a joke.A joke passed between two friends in a meeting, as one head of their table settled into his chair.“What do we do if these ideas don’t work? If we can’t get back control..?”The question had received a questioning look, and then a smirk, grey hands folded over the table top as the air around him buzzed with static. “Well then,” Dark had chuckled, voice the same gravely one he only used when it was just the two of them, tone joking and surprisingly light. “I suppose we’ll just have to kill him. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Wil. Tell me your plan for today.”He’d done it. He did what Dark asked.





	After Mark

It started as a joke.

A joke passed between two friends in a meeting, as one head of their table settled into his chair.

“What do we do if these ideas don’t work? If we can’t get back control..?”

The question had received a questioning look, and then a smirk, grey hands folded over the table top as the air around him buzzed with static. “Well then,” Dark had chuckled, voice the same gravely one he only used when it was just the two of them, tone joking and surprisingly light. “I suppose we’ll just have to kill him. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Wil. Tell me your plan for today.”

He’d done it. He did what Dark asked.

Wilford looked at the ground, mouth stretched in a smile so big, it felt like the corners of his mouth would tear. His hands were shaking, and he dropped the pistol, so the metal clattered near the body. Oh the body! He was cackling now, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling it up. Oh, he was even wearing the same red from that night, that color that made Wilford’s vision go weird and his stomach turn to acid. How that jackass loved the color, Celine had loved it just as much.

He threw the body against the wall, laughing hard enough it echoed in the room, that tears ran down his face and he was choking on them, but oh the feeling! There was blood pooled at his feet, and Wilford kneeled to press his palms into it. It was so warm compared to the cool floor! He thought giddily, standing again and watching the crimson drip off his fingers. What a lovely image burning into his mind, as he giggled like a child and pressed his hands into his chest, the red smearing over his button up and, oh! Oh he had to go tell Dark! He did what the other asked! They won! Mark was gone!

The man didn’t care to wipe off his hands, or even hide the body or weapon. He started for the stairs, still beaming, to the point his face hurt, but oh who cared about pain? Dark was going to be so proud, maybe he’d get one of those rare smiles instead of bared teeth. The thought along made his stomach twist around and get warm, and he was knocking on the other’s door moments later. “Darky! Darkipoo, I got a biiiiiig surprise for you!”

Nothing.

His smile didn’t falter, though his cheeks hurt less now, as he knocked again before trying the knob. That twisted, fortunately, and he found the room the way it was before. Everything was grey and black, a cool dark room for a man who was cold (and named Dark). He looked around and peeked around the corner, Wilford making a happy noise when he saw the body slumped over a desk. Oh silly Darky! He must’ve passed out working! He giggled to himself and walked over, actually wiping his hands off on his slacks cause Dark would be so upset if he got blood on the other’s suit. Again.

“Wakey wakey Darkipoo! Your ol buddy Wil has something to tell you!”

Nothing. Oh poor thing must be out cold!

Wilford shifted to pick the other up from his chair, made a noise when he noticed a paper under the sleeping man’s head, folded up neatly with “William” scrawled down in nice curled letters. He shifted Dark back into his chair and sat on the floor, legs crossed and paper in his hands. William.. Sometimes when he was mad, Dark would call him that, as his aura spiked up and went red. He never understood why the name made him so upset, and even cry once.

The paper was unfolded with shaky hands that left red fingerprints on the neat paper. The writing was shaky itself, like it had been written in a rush.

“Darling William, dearest Wilford,

We heard the gunshot, we know you wouldn’t harm another one of us. We heard his cries, the begging and sputtering of a dying man. We know what you did.

You killed Mark.

It may not have been our Mark, the one that framed you all those years ago, but you did it.“

Some of the ink was smeared with wet marks, tears, and the writing seemed to shift at points, going from loopy cursive to neater scrawls.

“It’s been long enough, we shouldn’t have stayed so long behind, holding up a puppet as it rotted away. We stayed for you. For the chance to avenge the ones whose lives were risked in his game.

I’m sorry we ever left.

We’re sorry we didn’t reach out and try to keep you safe.

I’m sorry my friend, my lover.

All we ask now is you put Damien to rest finally, the way he deserved. We ask you to forgive Abe, even if he is long dead. We ask you to give Mark a proper burial, even if he did this all. He was your brother. He loved you.

As did we.

Sincerely, for the last time,

Celine and Damien”

Wilford slowly folded up the paper, looking up at the table beside him, and the chair that held.. A puppet. The greying corpse of a friend he lost so many years ago, only held up by the persistent spirits of said friend and lover.

Brother.

Dark was the closest thing he had to a brother. Mark was Satan.

Well.. Bim had fresh meat to work with, Wilford stood and carried the body of a man who deserved so much more than this to the garden, to bury his best friend. And who knows… Maybe he’ll make a lovely white rose bush bloom.


End file.
